An Open Letter to Laurel Gwen Sheffield Brown

Dear Mom,

There are certain things I could thank you for on this Mother's Day that are pretty generic and basic, things that would probably apply to almost anyone:

#1 - Without you, I would not be here. Thanks for getting me here.

#2 - Without you, Dad probably would have killed me as a teenager and young adult. Thanks for convincing him to spare me.

However, there are other, more specific things that I want to thank you for today.

#1 - When I was sick as a teenager and stayed home from school, sometimes you'd run to the store for groceries and, when you came back, you'd have bought me a couple of comic books from the revolving rack they used to keep near the checkout stand. That always made me feel like a million bucks because I knew you were thinking about me even when you were away and could have taken a break from worrying about your whiny teenage son. It told me that you loved me and wanted to do what you could to make me comfortable and happy.

#2 - When I was at Ricks and you were the secretary for the Theater and Dance Dept. on campus, we went to lunch together all the time. Frontier Pies, JB's, The Golden Dragon, sometimes Me and Stan's, etc. I loved going to lunch with you because it told me that we were friends as well as mother and son. I always liked sitting with you and talking about the crazies in the Theater Dept. and what was going on with people we knew. You always let me order dessert.

#3 - Everyone has moments in their life that they remember and treasure. Some are big like the birth of a child or graduation or something like that. Others are seemingly small and uneventful but still powerful, valuable, and lasting. The times you and I traveled to Springville to see the spring show at the art museum and to clean up Grandma, Grandpa, and David's grave sites are some of my favorite moments from my entire life. I think of them as something special and even sacred that you and I share.

#4 - I tried little league baseball and soccer, took piano and guitar lessons, karate, portrait painting, and theater. As I was trying to figure out what in the world I liked and was good at, you always supported and encouraged me. I never felt the "You're going to grow up and be a doctor" pressure that some people get from their parents. I remember asking you once if there was anything you wanted me to grow up to be and you said, "The only thing I want for you or Jason or your other brothers is for you to be happy and to live the Gospel," and you meant it. I'm confident that if I'd told you I wanted to be a scuba-diving wildlife photographer, you would have bought me flippers and photography lessons.

#5 - You really like being a member of the Church. You take satisfaction and joy in doing your calling and in serving other people. When life hands you hardship and difficulty (and it has, largely in the form of your sons), you rely on your faith in God and Christ and the Gospel and the organization of the church. I admire the example you set of actually being faithful -- believing and trusting and hoping even when, especially when belief and trust and hope are hard to come by.

#6 - One thing I've often heard you say is "Isn't your dad amazing?" You're always appreciative of his skills and abilities and always make an effort to be grateful for what he does. You see through his borderline anti-social tendencies, his occasional grouchiness, his perversely compulsive pawn shop/yard sale/salvage store habits and recognize the good, honest, hard-working, tenderhearted man he is.

#7 - One of the great blessings in my children's lives is that they know who you are. Even though we're two time zones apart, they regularly talk about "Grandma in Rigby" and talk about playing at your house, taking you to the DIA, about your dog "Buck the Doofus," about presents and cards they've received from you in the mail, about stories you've told them, about the time you turned up here in Michigan and surprised them. You are an active, important part of Maryn and Avery's lives and they love you.

#8 - You have tremendous tolerance for the obnoxiousness of your sons. The wuzza, the Munchkin Mandible, jokes about attending high school in the Cretaceous Period, jokes about not being tall enough to reach things on the counter, questions about whether or not the Sheffields actually descend from Oompa Loompas, extensive quotes from The Simpsons at the dinner table, etc. Despite all this, you kept us around even when Dad wanted to leave us on the Indian reservation.

#9 - I doubt this blog would even exist if not for you. (Some people may blame you, I guess.) Your belief in being a record keeper has, in its way, filtered down to me. You were the editor of the Sheffield family newsletter for all those years when it was typed on a manual typewriter (!) and everything was done through the mail. The family calendar on the wall was always overflowing with details about events that happened on certain days. Even now, both halves of our family are updated on a daily basis about who is having a birthday or an anniversary. Because of that influence, I have a shelf of almost forty filled journals and a year's worth of nearly-daily blog entries. You've raised your kids to be a record-keeping people.

#10 - I really like you as a person. You're fun to spend time with and interesting to talk to. I learn things when I talk to you and often have to reconsider my usually narrow, judgemental way of looking at the world after having a conversation with you. You're funny and fun. When all the brothers are together and the wives and the kids are there, it's a wonderful thing and it's a thing that you and Dad made together.

Thank you for being my mom. I appreciate you and love you and wouldn't trade you for all the Chocodiles in the Hostess factory. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Love,

Mark